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For about the twentieth time since the semester began, I find myself wondering how I ended up living with such a slob. I mean, how hard can putting dishes away be?

Too hard, evidently.

For a guy who plays video games way more than he studies, Onja brings home the bacon when it comes to grades. Then again, he's got a rich family funding his education here in the States, so I don't know what kind of punishment they give you in Madagascar if you fail college. Caning? Okay, that's a little racist. At least I didn't ask him if he knew any penguins back home when I met him.

But he's a lemur. He has to have a sense of humor, right? All I know is, I'm not going to be the first to ask him if he likes to move it move it. I have to live with the guy. But Christ, every Friday he goes into the city to stay with one of about a billion cousins or some shit and leaves me to clean up this...this lemur-sty.

I can't complain too much, though. He keeps the volume low and he's not sports-crazy, unlike most of the kids here.

Yeah, I said it. I'm 20, sure, but sometimes I feel like I go to school with toddlers.

Rah-rah, rah-rah, sis-boom-bah, brah.

The microwave glows a quarter-after-nine. Fifteen minutes until he is supposed to arrive. I'm still not sure how I feel about the whole thing. But it's not like I can go to the club again and demand my fake I.D. back. Just the thought of it makes me grimace. How embarrassing...I suppose I should be grateful to have the opportunity to get it back at all, but it's not like I'm gonna let him know.

I can be grateful for the opportunity to get stuffed full of reptile dick and call it good. That's the price I pay for, y'know, being in college and wanting a damn beer. It's practically a prerequisite.

In all fairness I can't even really pretend to be that put out by the whole thing. Mr. Bouncer Gator had to turn me away to look good, and he even said if it were up to him he'd let me in with no problem. I suppose it'll all work out for the best, especially if I'm dripping all over the dorm room floor I just cleaned on my paws and knees.

Oh, if my dad could see me now. He'd have an absolute fit.

I pull my phone back out and check my texts so I don't fuck up his name. Wince, short for Winston. You'd think something like that would be easy to remember, but it's just not sinking in for me. Maybe once he sinks into me...

There goes my libido again. What can I say? My sex life got a whole lot more interesting once I moved to campus. A little bit of Grindr, a little bit of Scruff, and a whole lot of TaleRazr, the app that lets you know exactly what it hopes to achieve. You'd be amazed how many guys on the DL will fuck you, fill you up, and threaten and/or beg you not to tell anyone. When your girlfriend's not putting out, where else can you turn?

You can turn to me, apparently. And I'm fine with that.

The buzz from the intercom makes me jump, tail afloof. I press the TALK button with a trembly claw. "Yeah?"

"You got a visitor. Big white croc or something, too old to be in the dorms, looks like he's fresh outta jail," says Rene, the pine marten RA on duty. "He with you?"

"He's an alligator, but yes, I'll be right down."

"Whatever. As long as you get him out of my lobby; he's making the lady frosh nervous."

I release the button with a muffled snerk. I'm sure he is. That's part of his job.

The elevator door opens onto the lobby where Wince is the first thing I see: leaning against the front desk in a leather vest and faded jeans with just enough holes to look designer, complete with a wallet on a thick chain and steel-toed boots. Even from this distance he looks odd with his colorless skin and pink eyes. It's more noticeable than in the shadowy streetlight-laden alley where I met him and he let me go on condition of blackmail. He looks only a little less sinister, all washed out in the sterile fluorescent glow here on the ground floor.

He sidles up close while I sign him in. I think about asking his last name and ditch the idea. First is good enough, and we're not on a date. "So, what's your excuse? Am I a long-lost uncle, or a study buddy from Chi Omega?" His breath smells faintly of meat; I don't know which kind, just...meat breath. It all smells like chicken to me.

"That's a sorority."

"Who's to say I'm not fresh off a panty raid?"

I cast a surreptitious glance over at Rene, but he seems lost in his Chem 301 homework. I hope pine marten ears aren't good enough to hear the gator's sweet everythings in mine. Either way he doesn't look like he cares.

Wince leans against the elevator's frame even though it takes only a few seconds to descend from the third floor. He's a good head taller than me, so he doesn't need to look intimidating because he already is. It's like he has to continually strike a pose even when he's away from the club. Well, I let him, because to be honest he looks pretty good like that. I'm reminded of what he's here to do and now my stomach occupies roughly the same space as my larynx. And I'm starting to chub up.

I press the appropriate button, and as soon as the door closes he's on me, pinning me up against the wall, that somehow-inoffensive breath washing hotly over my face. A laminated picture of myself hovers at the end of my muzzle between two of his clearish-white claws. I can't meet his eyes, but then I do, and I know how it feels to be prey.

"So Kody," he says in a voice accompanied by a rumble from somewhere completely different, "is that your real name after all? You kind of look like a Kody to me. Or a Kaden."

Kaden's a faggy name, I think, before remembering I'm going up to my dorm room to get fucked in the ass by a gator I've only seen once before tonight. "Yeah, that's me. My mom named me 'Kodiak' because I was conceived on their honeymoon in Alaska."

"That's adorable. And kinda kinky. I like it." He pushes off from the wall and folds the plastic in half, dragging a claw along the crease. He folds it the opposite way and it snaps into two pieces and hands one to me. "Half now, half after," he grins as I try not to let my disappointment show. I worked hard to fake that thing.

"You didn't have to destroy it," I say with my best feigned indignation.

"So you could try and use it on the next bar down the street? So they can call the cops and you can get thrown in jail and your precious preppy daddy can bail you out and pay for your lawyer?" I get the feeling he's done this very same thing before. "You should be thanking me for saving you the trouble."

Instead of thanking him, I just cross my arms and keep my tail off the floor.

Smiling, Wince says, "You're welcome." Somehow he's won the argument I didn't know we were having, but I'm not about to bait him further.

"Here we are." He whistles when I push the door open.

"You're pretty trusting. Then again, I don't work in the best neighborhood, and you're all locked up here on campus. Quaint."

"Your college didn't have locks on the doors?"

"No college. Never went." He says this without any trace of irony or regret. Just a fact of the matter.

"Sorry."

"I'm not. Yup, this looks about what I thought it would look like." Making his way around the room, touching everything like a blind man would to get familiar, he comes back to me and stops. "Smells like lemur in here."

"Roommate. Home for the weekend."

"He's missing out."

"He's straight."

"My point stands. So, where's this room of yours?"

I indicate with a finger and he leads the way. He looks about as hot from the back as he does from the front, with the addition of that fat heavy tail swinging just enough to balance him but not enough to knock into things. In no time he flops back on my blue bedspread, getting gator-smell all over it, not that I mind, but will Onja notice come Sunday night?

He probably couldn't smell ball-sweat if he were being teabagged.

"Nice. Feels new. Your parents buy you new shit for school?" The more he moves his arms, the more I fear those claws tearing nice furrows that bleed synthetic fluff. Then he could make a fluff angel.

"None of your business," I mutter. "I didn't know you came to critique my lifestyle too."

He sits up, his belly a respectable bulge over his belt buckle. It matches an equally respectable bulge just below. "Lighten up, have some fun. What happened to the super-flirty kid who tried to sneak into my club last week?"

"If you're expecting me to be flirty, you've--"

"You could at least enjoy the blackmail. I can smell the eagerness on you; it's coming offa ya in waves. You don't strike me as the kinda person to turn down a dick under your tail. That's what you were trying to do when I took your I.D., wasn't it? Get in that club for some big ol' male to fuck you fulla seed?"

He can probably smell my blush, too.

With more ease than a bigger guy should have, he kicks himself off the bed and stands face to face with me, looking down his long scaly snout. "You're takin' all the fun out of my evening, Kody. You got one in the bag, no assembly required, batteries not included. It's like you scored last week after all, but it just took some extra time to get me back home, is all." He caps off this nice extended metaphor by taking my wrist and pressing it into the crotch of his jeans along his length. My fingers close automatically; it's like riding a long, hard bicycle. Kind of.

I'm licking my lips before I realize it, and he sees this and grins about a hundred teeth. "No kissing. I don't do kissing." So I squelch my obvious question and keep squeezing his erection, feeling it grow under my touch. The tight fit makes his size more obvious. That, plus he's commando, kind of one more anti-establishment token to go along with his attitude.

"S'big."

"Damn _right_it's big." What a gentleman, and so modest too. "Haven't jerked off in three days."

"Why not?"

"Makes it all the better when I'm fuckin' you," he says while walking his fingers down my side to settle over my hip. The weight there is oddly reassuring. I know he's not out to hurt me, but I can't help feeling a certain way around certain people. Hell, I don't even know the guy. But I know I want that thing in my paw under my tail.

I've taken bigger, but nothing that wasn't silicone.

We stay in that position for at least a minute, one of those long minutes that isn't quite awkward but can't quite make it to comfortable. I keep stroking after he's fully hard, just feeling the thing behind the denim. Somehow it's less intimidating right there in my grip, and I don't know how worked up I am until he palms my groin.

"Now you're gettin' into it. You know what comes next, I assume?" he asks pedantically.

I go to my knees, the bulge inches from my snout. "I've done this before, you know."

"So you must be pretty good at sucking dick then."

My left paw teams up with the right to work at his belt. "I've gotten no complaints so far." As I take down the fly his cock parts the zipper better than Moses' staff, accompanied by a cloud of reptilian musk. Not overpowering, but clean and masculine, making me salivate even more. His jeans puddle at his feet but he stays put because my muzzle's right there and I'm about to stick my tongue out and taste him.

Man, what a taste. Thick and juicy and heady and hard. His hands descend to behind my ears, pulling me forward but not forcefully. I want to savor this foreskin before it loses its flavor. Covering my fangs, I clamp down over the head, sticking my tongue between the hood and the shaft, coming away tangy and bittersweet. It rolls easily so I don't need a whole lot of spit to make it work, allowing me to concentrate more on getting my nose bumped up against those pretty pinkish scales laid out in neat little rows. For all his prior bravado, he doesn't seem too eager to move things along yet. Like I said, I've done this before with no complaints.

He opens his maw and lets out a full-body rumble that tickles my whiskers. "That's nice. That's real nice. Your dad teach you how to suck a dick?" Yeah, right,_I think. _You find his picture next to "milquetoast" in the dictionary.

Instead of wasting energy on words, I merely hum into his crotch while giving him several full-length extra-noisy slurps. He makes these little huff-grunts that sound like a cross between a snort and a growl. I can just imagine little muffin-puffs of air like you see in manga sometimes. But I doubt Wince cares what he looks like when he's balls-deep in a hole.

With my knees to hold me steady I busy my paws undoing my jeans and shoving everything down as much as I can without coming up for air. My first few strokes are almost painful, the way I've been cooped up in denim too long. I must be used to my own scent because when the gator looks down and sniffs appreciably all I can smell is his groin against my nose.

"You don't waste time, do you?"

"Nope," I reply simply, diving back in.

"A boy after my own heart. I hope this isn't the last time we fuck around." Surprisingly, I find myself feeling similarly. And I haven't even raised my tail yet.

It doesn't take more than five minutes or so before the need to get bred overcomes my hunger for a mouthful of gator cum. Reluctantly and without so much as a twinge of jaw pain, I pull back with a gentle kiss to his piss slit and one more grope of his balls. "How do you want it?" I ask while relieving myself of clothing, one piece at a time.

"In you, duh," he jokes, then continues. "Reverse cowboy works for me." He shucks off the rest of his clothing while I go for my lube, a particularly effective brand that uses herbs to relax my muscles without numbing everything. It's a bitch to wash out of fur, though. With slick fingers I claw in and sink two knuckles easily, giving Wince a show while he strokes himself with the patience of a fallen saint.

He gives another whistle. "Not your first rodeo by any means. Good, I don't have to be gentle. Hand over summa that stuff." I toss and he catches it easily despite its slippery plastic. After I put the residue on my dick, I watch him prepare. Something about a top slicking up for a romp just goes straight off the hotness meter for me.

I scoot to the side when he approaches to sit on the edge of the bed. The whole wrangling of limbs and positioning is inelegant no matter how we try, so eventually I hop off and bend over in front of him as he pushes down on his dick. It prods and I arch my tail up over his shoulder out of reflex.

"This good?" I ask.

"For starters, whatever gets it in."

"Mmph, yeah." And in it goes, too, with a little resistance at first. But when that foreskin slides back and helps him crown, I feel a gentle pop and the rest is like a knife through warm butter. All the way down til my balls rest atop his while he hugs me from behind and rotates his hips up and back. I gawp glassy-eyed across the room, not really looking at anything, just relishing the heat and fullness and _real_ness I've been missing more than I like to admit. Toys just aren't the same no matter how much technology you pump into them.

He stays right there, bottomed out and breathing on the back of my neck. Every time I clench he flexes, and we play tag for a little bit before I feel his hands come up from under my knees to raise my legs. I sink even lower; he bumps against my second sphincter but can't get through. I'm not sure I want him to; he's already got plenty of inches in there.

"You ready?" he asks, already having begun.

"Go for it." I slide up his chest and come back down again, guided purely by his strong arms with no help from me. That smooth thick cock spreads me open just fine, with no pain and little friction due to that sheath of skin rolling around in there. He gives me a good minute to get used to it before changing to a rough pistoning. His scales against my fur make a pluf pluf pluf sound. I make a hissing sound. He makes a rumbling sound. I'm glad these cinderblock walls block out most sounds.

For a predatory smartass, he's not very vocal during sex. Aside from "ooooh" and "fuck yeah" he mostly concentrates on banging me up and down in an increasingly frantic manner, so much so that I have to hook my right arm around his shoulder to keep from bouncing clean off. Not to say I'm not enjoying the hell out of myself, because I am. The little squeaks and gasps coming from me kind of give it away.

"Still feel like makin' that fake I.D. was a mistake, kid?" I can't bristle at that last word because my fur's already standing on end. Reaching down, I feel for the place where he spreads me wide, pressing against the motion for a few seconds to reassure myself of its presence. Soon it'll be pulsing that juice I crave and cramming it in as far as it can go.

"I wish this were the punishment for breaking the law."

He chuckles and redoubles his efforts.

Several times my paw wanders down my chest to take hold of my erection, but I don't get more than a few strokes in before I come too close and have to back off. The fur of my lower belly and thighs--wherever my cock touches--is matted and sticky. Not as much as my tailhole, of course.

He lets out a warm breath on the nape of my neck. "It's been nice and all, but I gotta nut real bad. Gonna have to save the long game for next time. You know how it goes. Aw man, gonna be big..." I do my best to clench down and milk him, which seems effective based on the way he starts groaning into my ear. His hips crash up into mine, the impacts stinging like a spanking so much that I have to hold my balls up so they won't get whacked by his sac flying around. Two sets of claws dig into my sides and he powers through, swelling while I fight to keep him in. I can't feel anything shoot, but it sure gets a whole lot slipperier in there.

And he doesn't stop.

I keep expecting him to slow down from oversensitivity or something but the only thing that's changed is the additional fluid inside me. It's battering my prostate and getting me closer than I want to be, but he says, "Your turn. I can't keep this up forever." Lucky for him I've been edging so long, because all I have to do is grip my sheath and let it stroke itself for about ten seconds before my balls boil over and I explode all over my belly without really touching much of anything. I just lean into Wince and pant my climax away dreamily, aware of his eye on me but not caring. I have to beg to get him to stop humping, and I manage to hold myself steady while descending through the afterglow.

Only once he's soft enough to slip out do I notice the sheer volume of cum he deposited. Runnels of it coat his cock and balls, more leaks out of my open hole, and there must be even more still up there somewhere. He gracelessly tosses me aside to land on my belly and stay there while he rummages in the bathroom for a towel. By the time he reenters he's already wiped himself clean and it hits my head when he throws it to me. Now I have gator cum in my ears, too.

The other half of my I.D. lands next to my muzzle. "You are a gentleman and a scholar," I mutter before trying to clean myself up at least half-decently. It's not pretty, so I decide to jump in the shower as soon as Wince is on his way to wherever he needs to go.

"A man's word and all that bullshit," he says. "You okay there? You kinda took a hit." He looks really sexy, standing there with his soft cock dangling and wet at the end. I want to go down on him again.

I get myself standing and do a cursory wipe under my tail. "I'll survive. That was too quick."

"Yeah, it was. You got an amazing ass, Kody. And I never tell anyone that. If there ever was an ass made for fucking, you got it."

This is not the first time I've received that kind of compliment. "Thank you," I bow humbly after standing. "I do what I can." Part of me feels disappointed, though, when he starts gathering his clothes and putting them back on.

"Do you need to escort me down and sign me out, or can I just find my own way?"

"No one'll care if you're by yourself as long as you scribble on the form." I don't bother putting anything on since I don't plan to go out again, though ordering pizza sounds like a pretty good idea after that workout. I approach the gator and almost spread my arms but I catch myself before he notices. Almost forgot he's not the huggy-kissy type. So I squeak in surprise when he envelops me in a tight (but A-frame) hug, slapping my back hard enough to wind me.

"Sorry it had to be under these circumstances. No, I'm not sorry. This was fun. I'm glad I blackmailed ya. Then nailed ya." Wince sure has a lot of teeth, especially when he grins.

"Me too, I guess," I say, completely not guessing at all. "I'll see you when I turn twenty-one then."

He snorts. "You can come by the club, I just can't let you in." And, leaning closer: "There's a nice dark corner just inside the door. Perfect for foolin' around without getting caught."

"I'll have to remember that," I say, already looking forward to more of his dick, anywhere I can put it. I close the door behind him while he whistles a happy tune all the way to the elevator.

A welcome soreness out back, I reach for my phone and look up the pizza parlor I have on speed dial. This time I think I'll order extra sausage. I'm still hungry.

5/11-6/22/15